Her Match
by Sleepy Lotus
Summary: Due to marry Will in just a week's time, Elizabeth is awakened to the fact that maybe becoming a blacksmith's wife wasn't her finest idea. A midnight visitor in her bedroom is only too happy to reinforce her conclusions, and propose a solution of his own. Long live Sparrabeth! COMPLETE!
1. Awakening

**Her Match**

 **A/N** : Someday, I will master the art of the one shot. I really will. But until then, I've got 5,000 words on this and counting. Hope you enjoy this first installment! :)

And, heartfelt thanks to the beautiful Florencia7 for the cover image. You're the best! :)

And, and, I don't own anything here. Just stealing it, but for no monetary gain. Pirate…

* * *

 **Part I: Awakening**

 _He does not know me._

Elizabeth collapsed back against the door of her chamber, her knees weak.

She was not usually one for fainting, but she'd never had her heart ripped from her chest before.

She'd not felt so miserable since the night her mother died, so many years ago.

 _He does not see me._

William had joined she and her father for a dinner that evening. As they had many times after their engagement, afterwards she and William had retired to the parlor to sit upon the settee and hold hands, whispering words of love and speculations of what their future might hold.

Innocent enough, considering.

That evening she'd mentioned her hope that William would like to take a tour for their honeymoon, Europe, perhaps, or even somewhere farther East. She burned to see new lands, and could think of no better way to do it than with her new husband at her side.

However, dear William had laughed lightly, as though she'd told a most amusing joke. When he realized she was quite serious, he visibly paled. _How can you wish to risk leaving our home, after the ordeal with pirates we just survived? Nay, I would be content to never set foot upon a ship again._

How those words had wounded her. More than she ever thought possible. Unwittingly the young man only twisted the knife further, going on, _My love, I will not allow you to endanger yourself. You will forget these silly notions of adventure once we are married and expecting our first child. We will have a happy home life. You will see._

Elizabeth had regarded him with mouth open, _flabbergasted_ by his words. She had never felt so _invisible_ as in that moment.

Oblivious, William went on to speak of babies and his plans to expand the smithy.

Speechless, Elizabeth barely heard him, the reality of her future flashing before her eyes. She'd been so over the moon for William, the boy she'd always loved, and now she was to actually be allowed to _marry him_! She'd been certain it was fate's design. And yet now— _babies_?

Elizabeth was so very intrigued by the thought of the conjugal bed, and yet she'd hoped somehow to postpone that inevitable by-product for at least a _little_ while. She wanted to enjoy her youth with William, to have him to herself for a little while. And she wanted to do something different than what was always done upon this deuced island. Their brush with pirates had been quite an ordeal, yes, but also she'd _never_ felt so _alive._

She wanted to feel that way again. For some reason, she'd thought that marrying William would replicate such heights, another grand adventure.

Elizabeth was beginning to see the truth of the matter might be ever so opposite.

Biting her fist, Elizabeth suppressed a sob that wracked her entire body, her hands shaking.

 _I would be content to never set foot upon a ship again._

To spend the rest of her life only looking at the sea, but never traversing her azure waves again? The thought _hurt_ her, deep in her heart, for she loved the ocean for all its majesty and fury. She always had. Of course, she'd never been shipwrecked and left to the mercy of the briny waves clinging to a piece of flotsam, as William had. He had his reasons. She knew he did. But to hear him set down his foot with such casual confidence, already comfortable in his mastery of her…

It pained her, and something inside her _raged_ that he thought she would be so easily cowed.

It was as though William did not know her at all. As though he only beheld a version of her, a version of his own making, fashioned like a thing of precious metals to fit into his life, just the way he'd always wanted.

Slowly it dawned on her that it was precisely the truth, a truth she'd suspected but never really allowed herself to see until now. This time she could not suppress her sob, her face hidden in her hands. "What have I done?" she asked herself.

Already, she'd scandalized the society of Port Royal, jilting Commodore Norrington for the blacksmith. But her father had swallowed the shame and turned his back upon the gossip, all because he wanted his only daughter to be happy.

How could she change her mind again?

Usually she wasn't a woman to care what people said, but _this_ would be _too much._

"Are ye alright, miss?"

Anne, her lady's maid, had slipped in from the adjoining door without Elizabeth noticing. With a start Elizabeth straightened, affecting a stoic face. Even after so many years of training in English society, it was a difficult thing. "I'm fine, Anne. I would like some privacy for the remainder of the evening."

Anne raised her reddish-gold brows, not convinced at all that would be a good idea. "But Miss—"

Elizabeth lifted her chin, affecting her best _mistress of the house_ expression, a role she never really felt comfortable with. "I said I'm fine. Please go."

Anne did not stop to argue twice, scurrying away with an alarmed expression. Once she was sure she was alone Elizabeth crossed the room to her vanity table, slumping down upon the tufted stool.

She held her face in her hands, shaking her head at herself.

 _What the devil was she going to do?_

Elizabeth regarded her reflection in the mirror, raising an eyebrow at herself. "Perhaps you shouldn't be so bloody surprised," she told herself.

Maybe once upon a time, she really _would_ have been content with William's plan for their future. As a girl she'd thrived on tales of princesses finding their prince charming and living happily ever after. She was certainly no less than a princess upon this provincial backwater of an island—why _couldn't_ she live a fairy tale life?

Of course, as a girl she'd also devoured tales of pirates and adventure upon the high seas. For a short time, she'd been so lucky as to taste that life, and even walk away from it alive. And not that her Prince Charming didn't have a hand in that, but mostly because a certain kohl-eyed buccaneer had seen to it, in his _very_ round-about way, that she made it out unscathed.

She thought of the night Barbossa pointed the pistol at her face, and how _quickly_ Jack had pulled his own trigger upon him. Despite the stories, she knew Jack was a man who did not like to kill, and yet there had not been a moment's hesitation, for her.

 _Jack._

Unbidden, the picture of his handsome face rose in her memory, that Puckish smirk upon a mouth too fine to have any business upon a pirate. _Elizabeth, it never would have worked between us, darling…_

Just the fact that he'd given it— _them—_ any thought had sent the most maddening thrill down her spine, goosebumps raising upon her arms even in the harsh Jamaican heat.

Since then she'd been left to wonder if that was yet another thing Jack had said in seriousness beneath the guise of jest. He did that more often than people realized.

She'd been left to wonder…just how _could_ it have worked out between them?

It was a question that hounded her imagination without mercy, in the minutes of her daydreams and the hours of her rest. How many times had she woken in a sweat, plagued by a dream not of her fiancé but a pirate named Jack Sparrow causing even just the light sheet to lay heavy upon her skin with _longing_.

God, but she was a _wicked_ thing. Engaged to a good sweet man, thinking of a pirate all the while.

Will was right that these waters were infested with pirates. Did she want to leave Jamaica to have an adventure with Will, or in the hopes that it would lead them into another madcap hijinks with Jack?

 _As if you don't know the answer to that,_ she scolded her reflection. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at her, her cosmetics smudged by tears. With the palms of her hands she wiped them away, or attempted to at any rate. In a sudden frenzy she tore out the hairpins anchoring her coiffure, feeling trapped by the loops and whorls so artfully formed by Anne earlier that evening.

All for William. William, who saw her beauty, but apparently not the woman underneath.

Unlike Jack, who had certainly been interested by her comely looks, but always seemed to look _deeper_ with those burning black eyes of his. In a way she felt Jack might be the only man in the Caribbean who truly knew her. The thought was titillating as it was alarming.

And, the titillating part was most _certainly_ alarming.

Suddenly Elizabeth regretted the decision to send Anne away so soon, the constraints of her corset digging into her sides. Ah well. She would make do.

But what did she plan to _do?_

How was she going to get out of this mess?

Would she stick it out, or break Will's heart? Could she just… _leave_?

She needed a plan. Something _scathingly_ brilliant.

What would _Jack_ do?

As if she didn't know. With an impish smile, a sad attempt to cover her distress, she selected a cut glass perfume jar from a tray upon the table. It was something she'd began keeping around since their little adventure, something vile disguised in plain sight within a pretty package.

Rather like herself, she thought, tipping the rum back. It burned down her throat and warmed her belly. She was getting better at drinking it, that was for sure. She even almost _liked_ it, and with a sad little laugh she wondered if Jack would be proud.

It did not take long for the rum to take the sharpest edge off her worries, and surprisingly she felt she could actually think a little more clearly under its influence. Her thoughts were not dogged by the clamor of panic, and she thought she might better be able to formulate a plan.

Perhaps she would write it down, she decided. Her mind was quick and prone to jump around, and sometimes the only way to reign it all in was by putting it into words, relegating her thoughts to the confines of a piece of paper. It was better than letting the deuced things rattle around unbidden and unfettered in her mind. It was the only way to tame _many_ thoughts inside her head, not only her fears, but also her dreams. Dreams that had no place in the life she'd been born to live, but dreams that would give her no peace all the same.

Dreams like Jack.

Elizabeth produced a sterling ink pot, uncapping it upon her table, and sharpened a quill.

She would tame this whole blasted mess with a list, she resolved, then thought maybe the rum was making her a little _too_ confident if she thought it could be _that_ easy.

She dug around in the bottom drawer of her vanity. Beneath a false bottom, stashed away from prying eyes, she hid the leather bound journal where she recorded her thoughts and fears. Since she turned thirteen and realized she could not express aloud everything that came to her mind, this journal became her sanity. It was like a graveyard for her thoughts, she sadly mused. The place her fantasies were laid to rest, perhaps to be revisited later with curious eyes, but never acted upon. It was a place to speculate on all the things she wished she'd had the courage to do, or possessed the quick wit to say.

Such as, she really wished she'd kissed Jack upon that spit of an island. _That_ little fantasy comprised a few pages that would cause the cackling biddies in her social circle to blush like wildfire, she thought with amusement.

Elizabeth's hand felt about the bottom of the drawer, but found only blank space.

Instantly her heart thundered in her chest, as she felt around the compartment again.

 _Empty._

With a gasp she wrenched the whole drawer from its casing, frantically rifling its contents. Where could it be? Did Anne find it while cleaning? Did she give it to _her father?_ It was a silent understanding that although Anne served Elizabeth, she was to report all findings to her true employer, Governor Swann.

"Oh no," she gasped, wrenching open other drawers. Had she misplaced it after a late night scrawling? When did she last have it?

Elizabeth leapt from the stool, her hands pulling her hair as she madly tried to recall.

"Lookin' for this, luv?"

Elizabeth's heart dropped to her feet, a cold sweat instantly breaking out over her skin. Slowly she turned to the darkened corner, to find a shadowy figure sprawled in her reading chair.


	2. Promises, Promises

**Part II: Promises, Promises**

First her gaze was drawn to his boots, the only part of him illuminated by moonlight, the leather worn from years of use. Then long legs, and a trim waist swathed in a faded red sash, the silver-chased butt of a pistol sticking out in sharp contrast to his faded tunic. She could not see his face, shaded as it was by a jaunty tricorn hat, and framed by a cloud of dark dreadlocks and braids. A single silver trinket glinted in the moonlight, and Elizabeth bit her lip in recognition, her breath coming too fast.

 _Jack._

In his hand, pinched in those _clever_ thief's fingers adorned with stolen rings, was clasped a sheaf of papers bound in leather.

Her journal.

 _He'd read her journal._

A mixture of mortification and indignation churned in her belly, a feeling so violent she could not even muster surprise for his presence in her room at this late hour. She trembled all over, with twice the fury as she had earlier.

"Give it back." She dared not raise her voice for fear of waking the sleeping house, but the threat in her words rang clear as a bell.

Gold glinted in the shadows, and she knew he'd flashed her that impish smile.

 _Blackguard._

"No."

"Give it _back._ "

"Persuade me."

He stood from the chair and she was upon him in a flurry, reaching for the journal. Like a school-yard bully he held it above her head, but he wasn't actually _that_ much taller than her. Jack let out an _oomph_ of surprise as she pounced, practically _climbing_ his wiry form in her single-minded desperation to recover her stolen property.

Had it been a bauble, earrings of pearls or a necklace of silver, she wouldn't have cared so much.

But this was her _heart_ , her every yearning bared in ink and parchment, and most of them bore _his_ name—and so she hardly knew what she did as she strove to reclaim it.

"Jack Sparrow I will kill you with my bare hands! Give it _back!"_ she hissed.

"Promises, promises, darlin'."

Jack proved deucedly adept at evading her, laughing quietly, his breath heavy near her ear. Like a band of steel his arm slipped about her willowy waist, holding her body to his. Throughout the maelstrom of her desperation she became aware of this, of their scalding closeness, and in fact that was _exactly_ the thing she'd so detailed in those damned pages.

 _She would burn them after this, one and all._

The absurdity of the scene fell upon her like a volley of cannon fire.

He'd read it already. What did it matter if she reclaimed it now?

She was done for.

Suddenly exhausted, in body and soul, she surrendered. Elizabeth slumped against him, hiding her face in the bend of his neck. He smelled like salt and the sea, of sweat and of some delicious spice she could not name. The urge to cry again burned in the back of her throat. "Go on, then," she whimpered, her voice muffled in his hair. "Tell me how foolish I am. A silly little chit with a ridiculous imagination…"

To her surprise Jack did not answer immediately, nuzzling her temple ever so gently with the tip of his nose. "Actually, I'm rather impressed by your imagination, luv." Something soft brushed her ear, and she could not suppress a sigh, her fingers clutching the coarse fabric of the shoulders of his coat.

 _His mouth,_ she realized. _That clever, insouciant, damnable, kissable mouth, upon her ear._

She felt herself melting inside.

Had his arm not wrapped so firmly about her, she felt certain she would have slid to the floor.

It was _too_ much.

With a gasp she drew back to regard him, mesmerized by the mystery in his midnight eyes. _Jack is_ here _, you dolt_ she scolded herself, but could bring herself to do no more about it. They studied each other like that for a long time, as though caught in some kind of spell, neither able to move another inch.

 _She is even more beautiful than you remembered,_ Jack realized, his heart aching as though squeezed by a fist. _Perhaps ye should say something before she screams._

But it was Elizabeth who found her voice first, asking barely above a whisper, "What are you doing here?"

The answer lodged in Jack's throat, constricting his vocal chords.

 _Bugger. Did ye really think this would be so easy?_

So instead he replied with a question of his own. "Why were ye crying?"

The question rather made her want to cry more, instead of revealing the cause of said urge. "Oh Jack." She buried her face in his neck again, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of him once more. _Hiding_ , she realized. From the world, or from him?

From those eyes, perhaps. Those eyes that always saw _too_ much.

She said it quickly, as though somehow it could be lessened by a fast delivery. "I'm to marry Will in a week and I'm afraid it's a terrible mistake."

His next words did not help her bid to win this war against the sob lodged in her throat.

"Aye, I agree, it would be."

She only clutched him harder. "Surely you did not come all this way to tell me _that._ "

In answer another long silence stretched between them, during which Elizabeth slowly came to realize that just maybe he did. Slowly she dared to vacate the warm bend of his neck, which she found was actually a very acceptable and desirable place to hide from the world.

"Jack?"

The usually loquacious pirate seemed, for once, at a loss for words. He gnawed upon his full lower lip, quick black eyes alight with words he dared not say.

 _Well go on, you great horse's arse. Tell her._

Jack could talk about a great deal of subjects at seeming unending length, but his feelings were not one of those things. Actions, however, he found much easier. And so with long fingers buried in her hair Jack pressed his lips to Elizabeth's, gentle as an ocean breeze.

Elizabeth felt herself begin to tremble again, so enthralled by his touch, so surprised by his tenderness. Were pirates _allowed_ to kiss like that? To hold a woman in their arms with all the care of a sculptor handling their finest work, and to bestow kisses light as the touch of a butterfly's wing?

She really was going to faint.

When he began to draw back her hands found their way into his ropey hair of their own accord, gripping fistfuls and pulling him to her.

And then the kiss became what she would have _expected_ from a pirate, sensual and demanding, his mouth slanting over hers with a pained groan. Before her legs were even given the opportunity to buckle Jack lifted her to her tiptoes, holding her close as possible while he pillaged her mouth. The butt of his pistol dug into her ribs but she couldn't quite bring herself to care. That clever tongue caressed her lips and battled with her own, and she delighted in the way this felt like war just as much as love.

She whimpered in protest when he drew back, her eyes taking far too long to flutter back open. "Now that you are nicely pliable…" said Jack, his voice low and gravelly with desire. It was like the feral growl of a wild animal, utterly primal, and the sound gave Elizabeth the most delicious chills. He easily swept her up, carrying her to the bed.

Elizabeth's heart galloped in her chest.

Did he possibly mean to…with Anne just next door and her father down the hall?

Oh God, she didn't even think she had the power to stop him. She didn't _want_ to stop him. She just didn't _care_ to pretend anymore…

Yet to her shock he placed her to sit upon the bed's edge, and gingerly lowered himself to join her. He did not let go of her hand, though he smirked as though he knew all too well what she'd expected of him.

Suddenly annoyed, she snatched back her hand, crossing her arms haughtily. "Rogue," she grumbled, her skin tingling all over.

" _Pirate,_ luv," he corrected, amused that she was more peeved by his good behavior than if he'd sought to take advantage of that fire still smoldering in those honey-brown eyes.

Jack's eyes roamed her fine features, her golden hair wild as a lion's mane, her full lips swollen from his kisses.

This would have been an opportune time to plead his case, Jack knew, but he still couldn't quite bring himself to broach the subject. Instead he tapped the cover of the journal with a tar-stained nail, raising an eyebrow suggestively. "May we discuss the contents of pages 40 through 47? I consider myself an accomplished rake, but I've never even _heard_ of that, much less done it. Care to explain how a lass like _you_ came across the idea?"

Her cheeks flamed red, and she snatched the book away, though to what end she did not know. Who knew how long he'd been up here, pawing through her things. He probably read the whole _damned_ journal.

"Insufferable man. You had no right," she spat.

To her surprise he answered, "I know. But I was curious about you."

She could positively hear her pulse in her ears, he affected her so.

Embarrassed by the barrage of emotion overtaking her, Elizabeth looked to her lap, saying quietly, "Well, I'm sure you've had your fill of me now."

With a finger hooked beneath her chin Jack turned her eyes back up to his. "Not hardly, luv."

An embarrassing flush overcame her, heat rising from her skin like sun-warmed sand. Elizabeth bit her lower lip in thought, and his eyes inevitably strayed to that coveted appendage, hungry to taste it again.

"I was certain that after regaining the Pearl you wouldn't give me another thought, Jack."

"Hmm."

That was the way it _should_ have been, certainly.

But in the year of regaining his most precious ship he'd found he could _not_ stop thinking about Elizabeth Swann.

He'd tried.

He'd failed.

Their song would creep into his consciousness without warning, escaping as a hummed tune while he tried to do bloody important things, like find Agua de Vida. Agua de Vida would be deuced useful someday, considering some of his outlying debts to certain powerful squid-faced entities of the deep. Yet instead of focusing on finding eternal life, he would find himself trapped in memories of a tawny haired lass dancing wild about a bonfire with him, and all his bloody compass could manage was to twirl in circles, pointing towards Port Royal, and god knew where else.

He'd even taken it back to Tia Dalma, curious if the damned thing could possibly be broken.

How she'd _laughed_ at him. _Jack Sparrow do not know what he wants…or at least not how to make it him own._

Well, he _did_ know, thank you very much, and he also very well knew that he _shouldn't_ want it and _shouldn't_ go and get it, for her own sake as much as his.

Why didn't the compass bloody know _that_?

Apparently this train of good solid logic was lost upon his heart, and it just kept on _wanting_.

Why _her,_ he'd marveled. It was a question he'd pondered for months, before finally accepting it. Was it because she was beautiful? He'd known _plenty_ of beauties, some that could even _almost_ rival her _._ Was it because she was forbidden? He'd met plenty of high class dames who fluttered their fans his way, who he'd not given a second thought to. In time he came to realize, the best love can ever be rationalized, was that he'd met his _match._

She'd tricked him, and no woman had ever been able to do that so thoroughly.

Not even Anjelica.

This tricky wench outfoxed him, and stole his heart in the process.

He was here to collect.

 _If_ he could just find the words, which usually wasn't such a great problem for him.

Leave it to _her_ to make things difficult.

He wasn't a man to make flowery speeches, and promises he knew all too easily could be broken. And yet if he was to be so brazen as to ask her to abandon her cushy well-fed, on-the-right-side-of-the-law existence for _him,_ and what a ridiculous trade that sounded, he supposed he owed her _something_ of his own mind.

"Lizzy…" he sighed, holding out his hand to her. It was rough, calloused from ropes and swords and whatever else a pirate's life necessitated. Not an easy life, she knew. But a full one. Of that, there was no doubt. Fascinated, she slid her long fingers along the surface of his palm, tracing the patterns of roughened skin. A tremor ran through his arm, enthralled by her touch, and she gasped as he clasped her hand in his, fervently pressing lips to her fingers.

She fought the urge to demand again _why was he here?_ but she sensed that was something he would reveal only on his own time. "So, ye decided ye didn't fancy the life of the Commodore's wife. And now ye think being Mrs. Whelp won't please ye either?"

Elizabeth swallowed hard, but saw no sense in denying it now. "I fear so," she whispered, embarrassed, and yet…not sorry.

Not yet, anyway.

Jack cleared his throat, black eyes casting about the room, perusing all the fine trappings of the life of a Governor's daughter. All these symbols of status and stability. Things he could not offer her. What the hell did he think he was doing here?

Before he could lose his nerve even further he said quickly, "Then what would you think about sailing away on the Pearl…with me?"

* * *

 **A/N: Too sweet? Maybe, but it's *so* obvious in the beginning of Dead Man's Chest that he's thinking of her. :) One more chapter to go...  
**


	3. The Trade

**A/N: Here we are, the last bit. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, you make me ridiculously happy! And a gracious chapeau for the favs and followers too! A certain someone mentioned that they wished this was an M fic. The set up seems fortuitous for such a thing, but the feeling of this is a little more innocent. Maybe in a sequel? :) If you do want to read an M fic featuring Jack making a late night visit to Lizzy's boudoir, I really REALLY recommend the fic Cloud by piratemistress on archiveofourown D0T org. All her work is incredible! Go read it and tell her so!  
**

 **Hope you enjoy, and here we go...  
**

 **Part III: The Trade**

Elizabeth gasped, squeezing his hand in hers. Certain this must be some great joke, Elizabeth searched Jack's expression, waiting for that beautiful mouth to split in a smarmy smile glinting gold. Waited for that glitter in his eye that signified he was having his fun with her.

But he only regarded her with a solemn expression, mouth pressed in a hard line. Jack looked _nervous,_ and it was a thing she never thought to see.

After two tries she found her voice, somehow having the presence of mind to ask, "And in what _capacity_ would I be sailing with you, Jack?"

"Erm…well…I've never been a man to make demands of a woman…and seeing as every bloke in your acquaintance has tried to stake ownership of ye perhaps you're a bit tired of such things for now…" he rambled, and Elizabeth's heart fell. He meant to make her his concubine, she realized. Or perhaps not even that. He would take his fill and drop her at the next convenient port, before the search for the Governor's daughter became too difficult to evade. "…or we could perform a mar-i-age of our own upon on the Pearl as soon as tomorrow, if ye wish. Fear it won't be the fancy to-do ye no doubt have been looking forward to, but Cotton is rather adept at the fiddle, and Gibbs could—"

"What did you say?!" she demanded, sitting up ramrod straight.

"It won't be fancy, luv."

"No, before that."

Jack cleared his throat again, his eyes a little too wide. "Said we could marry tomorrow— _oomph._ "

Elizabeth pounced upon him again, only this time with more ardor than venom. She bowled Jack over backwards, and he couldn't help but appreciate the luxury of a down filled mattress with a ravenous young lass bestowing such enthusiastic affections upon his person.

"Jack, is this a trick?" she asked after a few moments of furious kissing.

He hesitated, toying with the fabric of her gown at her sides.

Not because this was a deception, but because it was a decision that would change the course of her young life in a way that could not be easily taken back. And yet there were few decisions worth making in life that did not carry such high stakes. If she was old enough to be married off and turned into a brood mare, he reckoned she too could make the decision to become a pirate, if she wished.

"Nay luv, no trick."

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"Then my answer's yes."

Jack smiled brightly, and in that moment of joy he looked almost _boyish._ It made Elizabeth's heart ache in a way she didn't entirely understand. Smiling in kind, she traced his features with the tips of her fingers, his high cheekbones and aristocratic nose. The pirate pinned beneath her sighed as she touched his lips, nibbling upon her thumb.

 _Was this really happening?_

Jack Sparrow was going to be hers. _Tomorrow._ And she, _his_. Elizabeth trembled with excitement, a giggle of delight she dared not unleash coiled in her core.

The pirate threw a cautious glance towards the door adjoining Anne's room, as though he feared it could open at any moment. "Hate to be in a rush, luv, but if we're going, we'd best be off."

Reluctantly she relinquished her position atop him, looking about her room with bright eyes. Her sorrow of earlier seemed like a distant dream now. "What should I bring?"

"Nothing heavy."

"Jewels?"

Jack laughed quietly. "Aye, if ye like." His gaze raked over her, and Elizabeth marveled that with just a look he could inspire gooseflesh to raise over her whole body. "Have ye something better suited for sneaking about?"

"Yes. Will you unlace me?" She turned, lifting her hair. Jack stood frozen for a few long moments, his breath hitched in his throat, fascinated by the curve of her neck and shoulder. Though he was a man who had grown accustomed to miraculous occurrences, it seemed _too much_ that this should really be happening; this beautiful creature was agreeing to haul away with him, and it would be his privilege to unlace her at night from here on out, whether her mode of attire be dresses or breeches. Was this real?

His fingers trembled lightly as he began to pull at her lacings, the dress and then the corset, desire rising like the tide within him with every inch of skin he revealed. Perfect skin, soft and without blemish, untouched by the sun.

That wouldn't last long in _this_ life, he thought, and groaned.

"What's wrong?" she asked, stiffening beneath his touch, afraid he'd found something he did not like. She knew so little of men, she realized, despite the power she seemed to wield over them.

"Tell me ye know this isn't an easy life, luv," he sighed, kissing the bend of her neck. "It won't all be singing songs around a bonfire, you know. We'll have our share of fun, but sometimes there will be pain. Blood. Hard work. Hunger. Even death."

"Will there be adventure?"

"Aye, plenty o' that."

"Excitement?"

"Likewise."

"Exotic ports I've never seen?"

"Certainly."

"Treasure?"

"Hopefully."

"Love?"

She turned in his arms, her gown falling down about her shoulders, and it was all he could do not to scoop her up and deposit her back upon the bed. "Aye. That too," he answered softly, brushing his lips against hers.

"Will you say it, Jack? Just once?" she whispered above his lips, teasing him with the promise of that saucy little mouth.

"Merciless wench."

She laughed under her breath, drunk on the sudden realization of her power with Jack. " _Please_?"

He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, his pulse throbbing in his veins. He feared he could deny her nothing, and that veritably scared the _hell_ out of him.

"I love ye, Elizabeth Swann. Now will you get dressed before I am forced to do _most_ ungentlemanly things to ye on this bed, that stool, and possibly even the floor, and we are caught by your nosey maid and instead of a pirate wedding ye will be attending a hanging tomorrow?"

He couldn't help but notice that she didn't immediately say those three little words back.

With a cat-like smile Elizabeth shrugged out of her dress, crossing the room in just her thin lawn chemise. She was svelte as a gazelle, Jack marveled, all legs and taut curves. Transfixed, he watched as she produced a pair of breeches and shirt from the back of another drawer, and began to dress. He was treated to the sight of a taut curve of bottom, the perfect line of her bare back, and just a hint of soft mound of breast before she'd finished. By the time she turned back to him his mouth was dry and he was hard as a belaying pen.

"Are you alright?" she asked, confused by the look of near-pain upon his face.

"I will be," he rasped, shrugging off his coat. They needed to get back to the ship, because this was going to get _loud,_ he decided. "Here, wear this." It was too big for her, but effectively swathed her in a dark color, and disguised the fact that she was certainly _not_ a boy.

"I suppose I should leave a letter for my father."

Jack made a waving gesture of _very well but bloody hurry._ Quickly Elizabeth procured paper and her sharpened quill, and found it surprisingly easy to pen a missive of love and farewell to her long-suffering papa.

The note to Will did not come so readily, and she stared at the page in silence for longer than Jack could stand. He looked over her shoulder, reading:

 _Dear Will,_

"You don't have to, luv," he counseled quietly. "He'll get the idea."

"I owe him _something,_ Jack. He was my friend, and this will shatter him."

 _Her friend_ she realized. A boy she loved, but not her lover. For Will was sweet and true but he'd never been the kind of man she needed for a mate. What she craved was not stability, but the wild promise of _anything_ waiting just upon the horizon.

What she _needed_ was a clever savage with painted dark eyes, and kisses in firelight that left her _desperate_ for more. A man who could teach her of his passion, and a man who was willing to learn hers. A man who could fight with her and sometimes even win, but did not think himself her master.

What she _needed_ was her _match._

Jack heard the gnawing guilt in Elizabeth's voice, and felt a spike of fear that she might be getting cold feet.

"Aye, but he'll be happy again someday. This will pass, and he'll marry the baker's daughter or the girl who sells posies on the corner, and some nights he'll wake up in a sweat having dreamed of you, but in his daytime hours he'll be just as happy. The trade is that so will you. You're allowed to take that for yourself, darlin'. Ain't a woman's obligation to be the martyr _all_ the time."

Elizabeth smiled, finding tears in her eyes once more. But not for the reason that Jack thought. She marveled at this man before her, who put on such a charade of drunken gaucherie for the world, and yet underneath it all he really was the wisest man she knew.

"I love you, Jack."

The sincerity in the words seemed to surprise her as much as him, and while he digested these pearls with a rather comical expression she whirled, quickly scrawling out:

 _This is the best course for both of us and someday you will see. I wish you well, always._

 _Goodbye,_

 _-Elizabeth_

Elizabeth sealed both letters quickly with red wax and her monogrammed ring, setting them in plain sight upon the bureau. Next she began perusing her jewelry, pocketing the best pieces, heavy gold rings and necklaces dripping with pearls, feeling like a pirate already.

With a sideways glance she considered taking the journal, but in the end decided against it. It would explain everything, in _vivid_ detail, and suddenly she didn't care who knew her true mind. She could start a new log on the Pearl if she wanted, but she suspected her days of living vicariously through the page were done for.

Her life was about to really begin, and the thought made her _deliriously_ happy.

"Ready?" she asked, whirling with bulging pockets and a bright smile.

Jack still looked rather flummoxed, regarding her with those quick dark eyes. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen up to that moment in his long and interesting life, a fierce young woman filled with vitality and joy, and he wondered if he would really be able to keep a treasure like her.

There was only one way to find out.

She squeaked as he swept her into his arms, his mouth crashing over hers in a kiss that left her breathless, boneless, and even forgetful of her own name.

"Ready, luv."

Hand in hand, they made their way to the balcony, scaling the trellis and slipping like shadows into the garden. With a cupped hand Jack helped her over the wrought iron fence that surrounded the Governor's compound, and they made their way through the alleys and over the paths, back to the Black Pearl.

Not once, did Elizabeth look back.


End file.
